November 7th – 08:30 Hours
Petrichor Air Force Base – Flight Line
The ramp was still. Too still.
Two days had passed since Wolfsbane returned from Charybdis—flying home across half of Fontaine with fuel gauges low and nerves even lower. The debrief had been brutal. Questions, insinuations, accusations—all circling the same flashpoint: the strike on Tepecac Engineering College in Natlan. No one in Wolfsbane had been implicated directly, but the air still stank of suspicion.
Emilie "Raven" stood off to the side, arms crossed tight against her chest, her eyes locked on her Tomcat. A half-dozen mechanics swarmed the jet, panels open, access ladders braced against the fuselage. Their attention was fixed on the starboard Pratt & Whitney TF30 turbofan—the same temperamental engine that had nearly flamed out on final approach at Marcotte.
Kaeya Alberich, Petrichor's head crew chief, was in the thick of it. His uniform shirt was rolled at the sleeves, hands already stained with oil and hydraulic fluid. Emilie waited until he stepped clear, wiping his palms with a rag, before closing the distance. Her boots struck hard against the concrete, the sound carrying in the quiet.
She didn't waste time.
"So, Kaeya—what's the verdict?"
He glanced back at her with that lopsided smirk of his. "Good news for once. Core's clean, bearings solid, compressor blades intact. You rattled her, but she's still in fighting shape. Looks like you scared the engine more than it scared you."
Emilie exhaled slowly, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. "Thank the skies…"
Kaeya wagged the rag at her like a warning finger. "Don't get complacent. You keep riding the edge of the envelope like that—high alpha, low speed—you'll cook these TF30s sooner or later. And then you're coming back on one engine, if you're lucky."
Emilie scratched the back of her head, offering a rueful chuckle. "Not like I had much choice out there. But yeah—lesson learned. I'll try not to give your crew any coronaries next time."
Her gaze drifted to the exhaust nozzle, the metal blackened from countless burner runs.
"Besides… I'd rather not force an engine swap if I can help it."
Kaeya snorted, folding his rag across his shoulder. "Exactly. Pilots and crew chiefs—it's the same dance every time. We keep each other alive, whether you want to admit it or not."
Emilie's lips tugged into the faintest smile. "Couldn't have said it better myself."
Her phone buzzed in her flight suit pocket. One glance at the message, and her expression hardened again.
"Duty calls. Looks like we've got a new op on the board."
Kaeya nodded once, already turning back to his men. "We'll button her up and run one final check before you spool. You just keep her out of the repair hangar."
Emilie smirked, stepping back. "Deal. Appreciate it, Kaeya."
He shot her a mock salute with the greasy rag. "Don't make me regret it."
She turned and walked toward the main building, moving through Petrichor's dim corridors until she reached the briefing room. Ayaka was already seated, quiet and composed. Emilie slid into the chair beside her.
Ayaka glanced over.
"How's the Tomcat? Did Chief Alberich find anything?"
Emilie leaned back in her chair.
"Not a scratch. Engine's clean. Looks like I dodged a bullet."
Mona chimed in from across the row.
"Just goes to show—flawed bird or not, she's still got some fight in her."
Teppei let out a loud sigh.
"Why don't we just upgrade the damn engines to F110s already?"
Emilie shrugged.
"Not our call. And we're at war. Swapping out engines would ground us for weeks—and command's not taking that chance."
The door swung open.
Base Commander Courbevoie marched in, posture rigid, voice sharp.
"Silence."
He stepped to the center of the room and faced the four pilots.
"This'll be short."
"If you're truly innocent… then prove it. On the battlefield."
A harsh pause.
"We've confirmed a Natlan munitions facility located in Ochkanatlan. Intel suggests they're preparing to ship ordnance to the front using cargo aircraft. Your objective: eliminate those transports and level the facility."
He pointed to a tactical map displaying interlinked radar nodes across the facility.
"But here's the complication. Their radar network is tight—linked in a way that even if one node drops, the others will trigger an alert. You're going in stealth."
"Through synchronized timing and precision strikes, you'll take down the radar net in one coordinated blow. If you succeed, you'll blind them long enough to hit the factory undetected."
"We've deployed EW assets in the Natlan region to punch a hole in their defenses. You'll enter through that corridor."
"Once in enemy airspace, you'll split up. Fly low. Stay silent. And hit those radar sites in unison."
"Synchronize your clocks. You've got one shot."
He paused, then added coldly,
"Now go. And prove your innocence."
Without another word, the commander stepped aside.
The four pilots rose, chairs scraping loudly against the tile. Grabbing their helmets, they filed out of the briefing room and stepped back into the sunlit tarmac.
As they walked toward their F-14As, Teppei groaned, stretching his back.
"Swear to Archons, that geezer's getting under my skin…"
Ayaka crossed her arms.
"Not like we're the ones who bombed a damn college, right?"
Mona sighed.
"Not that it matters. To the Teyvat Air Defense Force… and Fontaine? We're still suspects. One wrong move and we're out."
Emilie clenched her fist and raised it to her chest.
"Then we make damn sure they know the truth."
The others nodded in agreement.
As Emilie neared her Tomcat, she spotted Kaeya waiting by the ladder.
He looked up.
"One last inspection—she's good to go."
Emilie nodded.
"Thanks again."
Kaeya gave a small grin.
"Bring her home in one piece, yeah?"
She gave a playful salute and a wink.
"You got it. Not in the mood for engine swaps."
Kaeya patted her shoulder and stepped away.
Emilie climbed the ladder, slid into the pilot's seat, and cinched the five-point harness until it bit into her hips. Then she began running through the cockpit checklist with practiced economy — battery and generators online, fuel pumps auto, hydraulics green, canopy seal checked. She pulled her helmet down, clipped the comms, and flicked the canopy switch. The glass closed with a hiss and locked with a satisfying thunk.
Engine start: BATTERY, IGNITION. She switched the start relays and brought the starboard TF30 through its start cycle, watching N1 needle rise, oil pressure settle, then the same for port. The turbines answered with that deep, familiar growl — a living, mechanical heartbeat beneath her. Avionics booted, INS alignment confirmed, TACAN set, UHF and guard checked. Weapon safeties set to STOW; external tanks and pylons double-checked on the status page.
Ground crew moved like choreography around the jets — removing the air starts, pulling ground pins, stripping away the maintenance stands. A crew chief came up on the port side, giving a plain, mechanic's thumbs-up. Emilie responded with the same, concise acknowledgment that meant more than words.
She released the parking brake and taxied out, the Tomcat's nose yawing smoothly as she followed the leader. Mona, Teppei, and Ayaka settled into formation behind her, tight and silent — four silhouettes against the ramp lights.
Tower cleared them in single file. Runway ahead, power set, afterburner armed if needed. With a synchronized roar they rotated, wheels kissing the concrete for a heartbeat before the four Tomcats climbed together into clear sky, engines singing, flaps retracting on schedule. The formation tightened as they cleaned up and accelerated to cruise.
Two hours of flight lay between them and the Ochkanatlan coast — a long transit to the ingress corridor, a dangerous infiltration, and one shot at clearing their names. Emilie eased the Tomcat into a steady climb, set the cruise power, and settled into the long rhythm of navigation checks and fuel management — pilot's work that was as much about patience as precision. Outside, the horizon stretched wide and indifferent; inside, each cockpit held a single, simple intent: get there, execute, and come home.
Hours Later...
Four aircraft flew in a tight V formation, now descending to a lower altitude of one thousand feet AGL.
The shoreline of Ochkanatlan fell away beneath them as they crossed into hostile airspace.
Emilie keyed her mic.
"Alright, Wolfsbane. Break away. Follow the flight paths according to your position in the formation. We hit the radar sites on schedule."
One by one they answered, rolling off Emilie's wing and splitting into their pre-assigned routes.
"Wilco. Starseer, breaking formation."
"Herring, dispersing."
"Soumetsu, breaking away."
Teppei came on next, sarcasm stitched into every syllable.
"Geez, they've really got us steering straight into another damn scrap."
"And I swear, this scenery is killing my Rock n' Roll."
Ayaka chuckled over the net.
"I'm just glad they didn't order us to retaliate for their retaliation—which could lead to them retaliating our retaliation, which—"
Emilie groaned and covered her face with one gloved hand.
"That's way too much retaliating, Soumetsu."
"Y-yeah," Teppei admitted. "You can say that again."
Mona's voice cut through, steady.
"At least there aren't many people down here who can actually shoot at us."
Then came the inevitable interruption.
"This is Thunderspike. Cut the chatter."
Emilie allowed herself a small smile.
"And there's our friendly neighborhood air-boss."
Ayaka laughed.
"He'll quiet down soon enough, Captain. Can't have our hot-mouthed AWACS announcing the surprise."
Thunderspike's tone tightened.
"I said cut the chatter. Synchronize your clocks before ingress. Five seconds until 1105 hours."
Silence filled the frequency.
"Mark."
Emilie thumbed the chrono on the Tomcat's clock and watched the digits tick. She cycled the HUD-clock once more to ensure it was slaved to the AWACS time—no drift, no excuses.
"I'll call the countdown in a moment. Listen up: we must destroy those radar sites before the timer hits zero. Precision is everything."
Teppei's protest came through, high and theatrical.
"Great. My internal clock's all janky! Now we're doing timed demolitions!?"
Ayaka sighed.
"I swear, I spend more time in the sky than on the ground lately…"
Emilie ignored the noise and slipped into her descent, following the plan line on her HUD while cross-checking the RWR and mission symbology for emissions from the first radar farm.
Teppei, still trying to make sense of it, blurted, "Hey, Captain! We blow up the radar in 'three, two, one, zero,' right?"
"No, Herring," Emilie replied, voice flat with patience.
"Whaaat!? That's not right?"
"Right—that's not right," she said dryly. "We synchronize the destruction, not the firing. Your missile must impact at zero, not just leave the rail."
A beat of comprehension, then relief.
"Got it! Sorry!" Teppei snapped his fingers over the net.
Emilie neared the first radar installation. The HUD symbology snapped a lock and the HARM tone hummed in her headset — a thin, steady note that meant the missile had a target.
"Ten seconds."
The tone steadied. Her finger hovered over the trigger.
She squeezed.
"Five."
"Four."
"Three."
"Two."
A distant concussion rolled up from the valley floor.
"One."
"Zero."
The enemy radar dish detonated in a flash, metal and fire spitting skyward. On Emilie's scope, the hostile emission ring blinked out and then stayed dark.
"Nice job! Synchronized attack successful."
Emilie eased the throttles back to mil power and began a shallow climb to eight hundred feet AGL, trimming to maintain formation spacing and energy.
Teppei came over the net, whooping. "Nice! Nothing to it! Let's hit the next one!"
Emilie leveled off and keyed up again. "Alright. Thirty seconds…"
"Mark!"
She reset the mission chrono and rolled into a shallow descent. The terrain rose to meet her as the second site resolved dead ahead on the HUD. Another lock tone, another steady hum.
"Ten seconds."
She fired.
"Five."
"Four."
"Three."
"Two."
"One."
"Zero."
A second fireball punched through the ground; smoke and dust mushroomed up as the second radar ring winked off the tactical display.
"Good job, everyone. Nicely done."
Ayaka's voice brightened. "Yeah! Our timing's perfect!"
"Right. Down to the last radar sites. Keep your heads in the game," Emilie said, voice hard and focused. She keyed the mike again. "Everyone, thirty seconds…"
"And… Mark!"
Timer reset. Emilie dipped her nose and lined up the third site on the HUD. The valley compressed, the target coming up fast.
"Ten seconds."
Tone. Lock. Finger poised.
"Five."
"Fou—"
"Hold it! Hold it!" Teppei cut in. "My radar's glitching out!"
Emilie cursed under her breath and slammed a gloved hand against the canopy frame. "Dammit!"
She punched the throttles and peeled off, banking hard to put distance between her and the target and clear out for a re-attack. "Cancel attack! Cancel attack!" she snapped.
In Teppei's cockpit the CRT and RWR fuzzed then blinked back solid. "Alright. Damn thing's back. Just needed a good smack," he reported sheepishly.
"Right. Re-starting countdown," Emilie said, already re-inserting herself into the attack geometry. "Now!"
She drove the Tomcat back toward the site, rolling hard into a ninety-degree bank then leveling off into the run. The radar farm loomed on the HUD, weapon cue steady.
"Ten seconds."
Lock. Tone steady.
"Five."
"Four."
She fired.
"Three."
"Two."
"One."
"NOW!"
The hit was clean — a bloom of flame and a spray of debris. The final radar ring extinguished from her display.
"Nice work!" came the chorus.
Thunderspike's voice returned, clipped and efficient. "Good work, Wolfsbane. You are clear to engage. Commence strike."
Emilie shoved the throttles to full afterburner and felt the Tomcat surge. "Raven, engaging!"
One by one the others followed suit:
"Starseer, engaging!"
"Soumetsu, engaging!"
"Herring, engaging!"
They pushed toward the factory and the transports with everything the mission still demanded — speed, accuracy, and the thin hope that a clean strike would buy them more than a tactical win.
As Emilie nosed over the cliffs toward her next target, the enemy frequency burst alive — raw panic cutting through the static.
"H-Hey! Are those planes ours!?"
"N-No! They're not responding to our IFF!"
Too late.
Her Tomcat shuddered as four GBU-12s dropped clean from the belly racks, fins catching the slipstream. Emilie slammed the throttles into afterburner and hauled the stick back, the nose clawing for altitude in a steep vertical climb.
Below, the bombs found their mark.
The row of storage depots erupted in chain detonations, concrete and rebar lifting skyward before collapsing in on themselves. Shockwaves rolled through the valley, tearing the roofs down and burying whatever munitions had been stacked inside.
Thunderspike's voice cut in, sharp and urgent.
"Wolfsbane! Take out the transport planes before they depart!"
Emilie's lips curled into a grin.
"We're on it."
She inverted the F-14 and snapped into a vertical dive, the horizon rolling until the nose fell fast toward the runway.
Enemy comms spiked again — voices shrill, alarms screaming in the background.
"EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY! WE'RE UNDER ATTACK! ENEMY PLANES ABOVE!"
Her IFF lit up with two heavy returns: C-5 Galaxies lumbering down the taxiway, engines spooling at full roar.
Emilie rolled wings-level mid-dive. The HUD lockbox snapped green. Tone steady.
"Fox Two, Fox Two!"
Twin Sidewinders snapped off the rails, contrails curling as they dove for the transports. Emilie chopped throttles to idle, popped her dorsal and ventral airbrakes, and felt the Tomcat buffet as it bled speed.
Both missiles struck clean. Twin fireballs engulfed the Galaxies, wings folding and fuselages breaking apart in showers of burning debris across the tarmac.
From the parallel runway, another two eruptions lit the airfield. Ayaka's calm voice broke through:
"Soumetsu has the target."
"Nicely done, kid," Emilie replied, rolling left and tucking the airbrakes back in. She swung onto another attack vector, thumb flicking the selector back to GBUs.
A red-striped hangar loomed ahead. Crosshairs settled. Pitch steady.
"Bombs away!"
Two GBU-12s tumbled free. Emilie broke hard left, wings groaning under the load. Seconds later the hangar vanished in a brutal detonation, roof pancaking down and crushing the prototype aircraft inside.
Across the AO, more storage units went up. Mona's Tomcat screamed overhead, contrails spiraling off the wingtips.
"Targets hit!" she confirmed.
Enemy frequency burst again, desperate and fractured.
"We're losing our facilities fast! Get our interceptors up!"
"We can't! The transports are blocking the taxiway!"
"Sir! Most of the buildings are heavily damaged!"
"Most of them are irreparable!"
"The aircraft hangar's hit! The prototype inside is down!"
Teppei roared in low over the factory blocks.
"Bombs away!!"
His two GBUs plunged through the roof of an assembly building, detonating in a flash that tore steel beams out like matchsticks.
"Woohoo! What a way to surprise them! Am I right or am I right!?"
Only one target remained: the massive central factory.
Emilie was already diving on it. She trimmed her pitch, the crosshairs settling steady over the sprawling roof.
"Bombs away, bombs away!"
Four GBU-12s dropped in perfect sequence. She rammed the throttles forward, Tomcat howling as she yanked the stick back hard — contrails spiraling off the wings as she pulled vertical.
Teppei whooped over the net.
"This is what tactical bombing's all about!"
A thunderclap rolled across the valley. The factory imploded, roof caving in, walls folding like paper as the assembly lines vanished beneath the rubble.
Emilie snapped her Tomcat into a crisp left aileron roll, raising a fist in her cockpit.
"Yes! Target hit!"
Thunderspike came back, voice steady but carrying a hint of pride.
"All targets destroyed. Picture clear. Return to base, Wolfsbane. Nice work."
Emilie leveled out, throttles back to let the others regroup.
Mona's voice followed, tired but content.
"Mission complete… let's head home…"
One by one, the others tucked into formation, loose V against the orange-tinged sky.
Teppei keyed his mic, quieter now.
"Megistus…"
Mona blinked. "Hm?"
"You've gotta take it easy on yourself. At least you get to go home today, right?"
Mona smiled faintly in her cockpit.
"R-Right…"
"So cheer up a little, okay?"
"You too, Teppei."
The four Tomcats streaked eastward in tight formation, vapor trails stretching behind them as the sun dipped low — heading home to Petrichor, Fontaine Territory.
Hours later…
Wolfsbane Squadron made it back intact.
The four Tomcats now rested under the pale moonlight, their canopies dark, their engines silent. Burn marks streaked the fuselages, scorched paint showing where flares and heat had kissed their skins. The birds sat motionless, like predators finally at rest.
The debrief had ended only minutes earlier. The pilots drifted into the lounge, beers in hand, their bodies unwinding though the tension of the mission clung like smoke.
Mona stood apart, leaning by the tall windows. Her helmet sat forgotten on a nearby chair. She cradled the bottle loosely, staring past her own reflection at the night sky. The stars shimmered in the distance — bright, cold, far removed from the noise and ugliness of war.
Emilie crossed the room quietly and took position beside her, leaning back against the wall. She studied Mona for a moment before speaking.
"Hm… I know that look, Mona."
Mona took a slow sip, her fingers trembling slightly around the glass.
"I know… I just don't want to see more young ones die in this pointless war."
Emilie nodded, her voice quiet.
"I know. I feel the same."
For a moment, silence stretched between them — heavy, unspoken. Then Emilie's tone shifted, eyes narrowing.
"But something still doesn't add up."
Mona turned to her, brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
Emilie adjusted her glasses, thinking aloud.
"Why did Natlan declare war on Teyvat? They're part of the Union. They gain nothing from fracturing it. It doesn't make sense."
Ayaka, seated on a nearby couch, straightened. "You've got a point, Captain. Why now? Why so sudden?"
Teppei exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. "Could be territory. Maybe they're just pulling a Khaenri'ah — trying to carve out land while they can."
Emilie shook her head. "No. Khaenri'ah's war was survival. Their economy was crumbling, their people starving. Then they discovered high-value resources in Nod Krai — territory both we and Snezhnaya had claims to. War was their last card to play."
Ayaka's gaze lowered. "And when we pushed them back…"
"They nuked their own homeland," Emilie finished flatly. "Buried themselves in ice and ash. I spoke to one of the few survivors once. All he said was: 'The land to the north is sacred.' Whatever the hell that means."
She looked back to the others, her expression hard.
"But Natlan? Their economy's stable. Industry's active. People aren't starving. There's no unrest, no desperation. So why start a war?"
Teppei leaned forward, voice low, uneasy. "You're saying… there's something we're not being told?"
"There has to be," Emilie muttered, almost to herself.
Mona turned her eyes skyward again. The stars glittered cold and indifferent. Her voice was soft, troubled.
"This feels like something else. Bigger. Deeper."
Ayaka whispered, barely above the hum of the base's generators.
"Then the question is… what the hell are we walking into?"
Silence fell over them. Outside, the wind brushed across the hangars, tugging faintly at the flags. The four pilots said nothing more.
Above them, the stars shone bright and untouched — unmoved by the chaos gathering below.